


Treasure

by paintedwolf



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedwolf/pseuds/paintedwolf
Summary: Nathan goes to a place that was special to him and Duke as kids. Post-finale





	

_ We've come a long way from where we began _

_ Oh, I'll tell you all about it when I see you again _

~

The minutes passed by unnoticed while Nathan sat, still and quiet, in the front seat of his Bronco. He'd been staring at the same patch of empty road for long seconds now, yet he hadn't quite built up the courage to get out. The main stretch of East Beach sprawled out just around the next bend, but that wasn't the focus of Nathan's attention, nor where he'd been planning to go when he'd pulled his car onto the shoulder. In his hand was a single piece of paper, rumpled and folded one more time than it had been when it was sent, and his thumb traced idly over the edge of it. For once, being acutely aware of its texture and the sharp corners of its folds only made him somber. He didn't need to open it to know what it said. He knew the words by heart, felt sometimes like they'd been carved  _ into _ his heart, no matter how many times Gloria reassured him that they didn't mean any of this was his fault. He had never expected to see them again, not until he'd finally got around to looking through Duke's personal effects, the ones that had been sitting in a yellow envelope on his back car seat for three days before he'd had the courage to look.

There hadn't been anything particularly special about them. Wallet, nondescript cell phone with a cracked screen, and a lethal-looking switchblade that made his stomach twist. In the wallet had been several old credit cards and a driver's licence registered in a name that wasn't Duke's, a small printed-out copy of the photo Audrey took of Jean, and tucked away in the bill fold, the letter Nathan had written to Duke asking him to come back and help save Haven one more time. The hope he'd felt when he'd wrote those words tasted bitter on his tongue now, every time he wondered what if. What if he'd never come back. What if Nathan hadn't  _ asked _ him to come back. What if he hadn't-

Truth was, he didn't know- there was no way he could have- about any of it. He had, for a long time, known he was prepared to die for the sake of Haven, the people he loved. Had even slowly, painfully made rough peace with knowing he might have to let Audrey go one day, willing or not. They had  _ all _ known, the three of them, what saving their town might cost them one day. Nathan had just never expected to lose them both at once, or to be the last one standing at the end of it.

He knew what his job was now. Knew that rebuilding Haven into somewhere safe, happy- somewhere people could call home again without fear of it turning their lives upside down, was his duty, the best way he could honor two people he loved with all his heart.

But that didn't mean there hadn't still been moments in the last seventeen days- when he kept coming home to an empty house, as he'd stumbled through a eulogy on a boat, hollow and empty and thinking how much better Audrey was at this sort of thing- when he hadn't wished couldn't feel  _ anything _ at all. Didn't have to feel how much the irony stung that now his Trouble was gone, he would take it back in an instant if it meant having Audrey and Duke back too.

Didn't have to feel his heart skip every time his phone rang. Didn't have to feel the disappointment every time it wasn't them. Or the lump in his throat or the stinging in his eyes seeing Audrey's stuff muddled haphazardly with his own. Or hot tears on the pillow that still smelled like her.

It was the quiet moments, ones like this, when he was on his own and not running around, organizing things, helping around town, that were the hardest. When he was working, he was distracted. He never forgot- oh he couldn't ever do  _ that,  _ not when they were present in every beat of his heart _ \-  _ but being able to do things, the kinds of things they would've done anyway-  _ that _ helped. It kept him focused, kept him from giving in to weak knees and shaking hands and tears that wouldn't stop if he let them start.

But he also needed to  _ let _ himself grieve, or at least that's what Gloria and Dwight told him with offers to talk and understanding looks. Which was just possibly why he was here, paralyzed by a single piece of paper and a scrawled note that had become the fulfillment of a faded, long-ago promise between two friends to always  _ be there. _

Nathan swallowed, tapped the note on his thigh, closed his eyes. Took a breath.

Then he carefully tucked the note into the inside pocket of his jacket and pushed his door open.

It was still cold out, but the sky was relatively clear and the sun shining, lukewarm rays a welcome contrast to the slight icy breeze drifting off the ocean.

Nathan picked his way down the short rocky slope onto the beach, idly amused at instinctively hunching his shoulders and wanting to shove his hands into his pockets against the cold. It was kind of astonishing how many things people automatically did with their bodies, things he hadn't been aware of doing for a long time, things he'd probably taken for granted throughout the years he could feel.  

He decided to take a slightly longer, deliberately diagonal path across the beach that would take him closer to the water and the just-too-cold spray of sea on his face; the seemingly unending desire to seek out things he could feel now taking over what could probably be called the common sense of not putting himself in the path of East Coast water in the middle of a Maine winter.

He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with that briny sea smell that had grown synonymous with Duke, that used to cling to his clothes when he'd come back from the water and lingered sometimes, just detectable even under soap and shampoo and cologne. Even before Duke got his boat and sailed around the world, the sea reminded Nathan of him. They'd spent so much of their time as kids on the beach, building castles and collecting shells; Duke had always loved the water, could often be found poking around the rocks and going home wet and covered in sand. Was probably the reason why he was there that day, on the beach when James died.

Nathan swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, wanted to push the burning in his eyes away. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. He faltered, stopped to look out at the waves with his hands stuffed in his pockets. There was just…too much sometimes. He'd lost so much in not so very much time, sometimes wondered how he was expected to keep going now that his life had all but crumbled around him. He closed his eyes, breathed in again, knowing he was on the edge of losing it.  _ Not yet _ , he thought,  _ not here _ . He let the sound and smell of the sea wash over him, let it fill his chest, calm his aching heart. It was a poor substitute for the real thing, for what he wanted here with him on this lonely little beach, but he'd meant what he said about owing Duke, meant it when he decided their memories would live with him, and this- going to see a tiny little weather-beaten shed for the first time in years- was  _ important _ . He stayed close to the water though, could almost hear Duke teasing him about being sentimental in the ebb and flow beside him.

By the time he approached the door of the old shed, his heart was pounding, sending fine tremors with it down to his hands. _It's just a shed, dammit._ He steeled himself, unaccountably nervous as he pulled the long-broken lock off of the latch. The door was stuck, warped and rusted from disuse, old hinges refusing to budge under Nathan's weight. He looked down, noticing the bottom of the door had got caught at some point on the concrete slab that was the sum total of the entrance. Nathan shoved against it again, careful not to do it too hard, the memory of the last time he'd tried to force a door since the Troubles ended still fresh enough in his mind to remind him to exercise at least a small amount of restraint. The third time he launched his shoulder at the door, it came loose, opening with a short, sharp squeal as the edge grated over concrete. Nathan put out a hand to stop it bouncing back too far, ducked his head and stepped inside.

It smelled musty, abandoned; a less enjoyable version of the sea breeze outside that was almost overpowering to senses that had not yet stopped compensating for being unable to feel. Nathan scrunched up his face in response, but stepped further into the shed.

It…wasn't as grand as Nathan remembered it. It was little more than a fishing shack, somewhere that might have once stowed bait and tackle and rods, all told, about a hundred square feet with sea sand for a floor, two grimy windows to let in light and a few shelves in rusted steel and moldering wood pressed against the left wall. It was nothing like the castle it had been when they were younger, but nevertheless had well held the memories of two kids who used to lie under the stars and dream about being rock stars and pirates and explorers.

Cold wind from outside pressed against his jacket and the back of his neck, and a hard shudder ran through him.  _ Like someone walking over your grave _ , was the expression. Nathan shook it off, not certain what it was about this place that unsettled him so, that left unease rippling across his skin and his hair standing on end. He shifted further inside, to his left out of the direct path of the wind, the minute variation in temperature noticeable now that he wasn't so exposed to the chill. The change of position had also put him in close view of a pair of wooden packing crates, shoved against the wall just next to a set of withered harpoons. He didn't remember ever seeing crates as big as that in there before, and he and Duke had got to know every inch of this place. Curious, he stepped over and tested the lid of the one on top. It shifted slightly under his fingers. So not sealed then. Nathan shoved at the lid a little more, turning the edge over the side to open up a gap. He scooped aside a handful of packing straw.

Wine. A neat row of five bottles. Nathan's eyes swept over the labels, but he wasn't enough of a connoisseur to know if they were expensive, or illegal somewhere or if the innocuous bottles were merely hiding something both expensive  _ and _ illegal.  He knew enough about Duke's  _ business _ to know he occasionally "imported" exotic, hard-to-find foods and spices (and possibly even wine, apparently), but that didn't explain what the crates were doing here, or why he was assuming these  _ were _ Duke's. It wasn't completely unfathomable that someone had made use of the place other than them. But Nathan's instincts told him this was all him. Not that it was, on the face of it, as a big a deal as Nathan's mind seemed to want to make of it. Nathan was sure Duke had plenty of stashes and hiding places, ones that even Nathan didn't know about, ones that had been only his, where he'd kept secrets he hadn't shared with anyone. Like the crates of wine, and why they hadn't been used or shipped off somewhere. Was a it a job gone wrong? A trip Duke hadn't been able to complete for some reason? Had he brought them back for himself and forgotten about them? The idea of Duke having been in trouble- of the mundane as opposed to the Haven variety- sent a renewed chill down his spine. A few years ago he might have told anyone-  _ himself _ \- that he didn't care, but the truth was, he had  _ always _ cared. But it had been so easy to resent him, to imagine he was out there having the time of his life, wheeling and dealing with not a care in the world or a thought about what he'd left behind, than to entertain the odd fleeting thought about what if something had happened and he'd never see Duke again and would he even know he was gone?

Not for the first time, Nathan wondered. Why the hell did Duke have to have so many secrets anyway?

But, thing was, Nathan understood that. He understood the need to protect yourself, to want to hide bits and pieces away from the world, safe from being hurt and worn away. Even back then, he'd understood, even before the Troubles came back in '83 and he stopped feeling. Maybe that's why he and Duke became friends in the first place. Maybe he'd seen that very same thing in Duke (even if he didn't quite know what it was), in that unfathomable weight on too-young shoulders. It wasn't just about carrying him to the hospital after the sledding accident, or afternoons spent in detention together, or baseball or liking the same comic books. It was knowing… _ something _ about being lost or lonely or misunderstood.  They had never been quite whole, either of them- the boy who couldn't feel and the kid from the wrong family- but he had always felt normal when he was with Duke, and he dared hope that Duke had felt safe, with him.

Someone he could share his secrets with.

It had been a hot day, he remembered, and they were sitting under the big oak tree in the yard during recess, the latest issue of  _ Avengers Annual _ spread over both their laps. Nathan had pulled out his lunch, looked over curiously when Duke didn't do the same, even as his stomach grumbled loudly enough for Nathan to hear.

_ "Aren't you going to eat?" _

_ Duke shrugged, his eyes flicking away for a second before he smiled back sheepishly, face slightly flushed, "Left my lunch at home." _

_ Nathan shook his head, pushed his own food over to rest between them below the comic without thinking about it. Duke didn't even look up from the page as he reached over and popped a slice of apple in his mouth. Nathan smiled, shifted a little to lean further into Duke's shoulder. A companionable silence- broken only by the sound of chewing and the occasional turning page- fell as they continued reading. _

_ Duke suddenly leaned over, conspiratorially, and whispered in a tone that feigned at being serious, "Hey, Nate. You wanna see something secret?" _

_ His eyes were sparkling with mischief when Nathan looked up and nodded. _

_ "What is it?" _

_ "You'll see." _

_ Nathan spent the whole rest of the day trying to figure out what it was, but every time he asked, Duke would just grin and shrug mysteriously, telling him it wasn't at school so he would have to wait until after. _

_ They only got out there the next day, after Nathan got permission from the Chief to go down to the beach with a friend after school.  They took the bus and got off a stop before Duke normally climbed off to go home, then walked the rest of the way down to East Beach, where Duke led him in the opposite direction from where people usually were when they were on the beach. Finally, they ambled up to a tiny shed, tucked in several feet on the other side of a large rock outcropping, just far enough off the trail that most people probably wouldn't even give it a second glance. Duke stopped right in front of it, hands on his hips as he waited for Nathan to catch up the few steps he'd been behind him. _

_ "Well, what do you think?" he said, reaching out a hand to encompass the shed beside him. _

_ "What is this place?" _

_ "It's my secret lair," said Duke dramatically, "Come on, I'll show you around." _

_ Nathan automatically latched onto Duke's enthusiasm, but even so, he couldn't help being a bit skeptical as he poked his head in once Duke got the door open. _

_ "Are you sure it's okay to be here?" asked Nathan, "What if it belongs to someone?" _

_ "It doesn't," said Duke confidently. _

_ "How do you know?' _

_ "Because I do. Now come on, stop being such a goober." Duke grabbed his arm and yanked him all the way inside. _

_ Nathan stumbled, but laughed, "Okay, Okay. I'm coming." _

From that day on, it had no longer been Duke's "secret lair", but  _ theirs _ . They went there as often as they could, and they'd sit for hours playing, or reading comics or telling each other stories. Nathan hadn't ever really asked where Duke got half the stuff he brought in there, and though he'd caught on eventually that some of it Duke had stolen, he never said anything even if he knew that stealing was wrong. He  _ had _ asked Duke one day why he took things from other kids, but Duke had merely shrugged as if he didn't know himself. Nathan had often figured he'd done it just because he could.

But what Nathan  _ hadn't _ realized back then, hadn't ever really thought about, was that he was the only person, at least back then, that Duke had brought there. Before it was Nathan  _ and _ Duke's, it had just been Duke's. They might have called themselves friends before that day, might've hung out and spent time together at school, but they'd never really been friends  _ outside _ of school. They'd never even been to each other's houses. But something Nathan had done, perhaps even something he'd  _ been _ doing since the day they'd first met each other some three years before that, had resonated enough with Duke that Nathan had somehow become someone Duke trusted more than almost everyone else. It had taken Nathan a long time to understand just how important that was.

Duke was different when they were alone. At school he'd often been effortlessly popular (or so it had seemed to Nathan), laidback, confident,  _ funny.  _ A lot like he'd been as an adult. But he'd also almost always had this wary look in his eyes, one that suggested that even as young as eight years old, he expected that good things didn't last and he was simply biding his time until the other shoe dropped.

Duke was still boisterous and loud and talked a mile a minute, but he was often more cautious and insecure when it was just the two of them, as if he was looking for approval- like Nathan's acceptance  _ mattered _ in a way no one else's did- and far more interested in school work than he ever was when at school. Nathan didn't know if it was simply because he himself had always been studious- the Chief wouldn't have accepted anything less- but Duke was smart and Nathan had always thought he was capable of doing much better than his grades usually reflected if he'd put his mind to it. He had always been good with languages, enjoyed History, aced Geography. Nathan had never really understood how Duke could have all those big ideas and grand plans, but never seemed to have aspirations about achieving any of them. Then Duke went out and became a pirate anyway, and Nathan figured out that if anyone could realize the starry-eyed dreams they'd shared once and that had no longer seemed possible only a few years later, it was Duke.

He slid the top of the crate back into place, dusted off his hands as he stepped further inside, eyes darting around curiously, but with uncertainty. He wasn't quite sure what he was actually doing. There was almost nothing left of when they- he- had been here last. Nathan wasn't even entirely sure what he had expected. Thirty years, or close to it, was a long time even if Duke hadn't clearly come back here every now and then. It was never going to be the same no matter what had happened. People changed, moved on,  _ left _ . This place was as foreign to him now as it had been familiar back then. A little like Duke himself before they'd started stumbling back toward friendship. But there was still an inherent comfort to it, and to the knowledge that time hadn't destroyed everything-  _ couldn't _ destroy what had been, even if Nathan didn’t really know what he was actually searching for. Then he laid eyes on the corner of something blue, half-buried in sand, abandoned at the juncture between an old crate and a rickety wooden shelf.

When he'd shoved the sand out of the way and uncovered it, he couldn't help but laugh. In his hands he held a once bright-blue lunch box, scuffed and dented, the picture of  _ Superman _ in flight on its lid faded, the top of his head and half his cape missing.

That, they'd actually had a fight over. Nathan knew Duke had only taken it because Tommy Olsen had teased him about not having one. Duke had never been particularly materialistic- even for a kid- growing up. Had never really cared what the rich kids had or what the popular kids decided was cool. Somehow, he'd just make it his own. He'd arrive at school in odd combinations of clothes, most of them ill-fitted and weather-worn and in various states of dishevelled- and just call it his style. He'd always had enough charm and attitude to convince everyone that the only reason he didn't hang out with the cool kids was because he was too cool for the cool kids. When Duke couldn't follow the crowd, he just carved out his own path and blazed a trail right through it. Most of the time Nathan had admired that, some of the time he'd hated it, when that nonchalant, occasionally cocky attitude turned on  _ him _ . But Nathan had also seen sometimes how the odd taunt or jab would get to Duke, usually when they whispered things about his mother or Simon and Duke would go quiet sometimes, other times he'd shove back or throw a punch (and sometimes Nathan wished he'd had that same resilience at school, when people had started whispering about  _ him _ too) but he would always bounce back, a dark shadow in his eyes that would become an easy grin and a joke. Nathan wasn't sure when Duke had become quite so good at blowing things off and obfuscating the truth with waving hands and sharp-witted words.

There were so many things Nathan understood now, both from the experience that inevitably came with adulthood and the training of a cop, about Duke and who he was and why he was, but too often all of that got buried under ghosts and resentments from the past, and Duke had become the sum of everything he'd done wrong before, and not the things he'd been doing right then. Hindsight really was twenty-twenty.

But the lunchbox- Duke had never got upset over something like that, something he didn't have, even if the only reason he derided those sorts of things was to mask the odd wistful look (because if he didn't  _ want _ one, why would he be jealous that he didn't  _ have _ one?) 

By the time Nathan had wrangled back a very upset Mikey Bradford's lunch box-  _ because Mikey didn't do anything wrong, Duke! _ "- Duke was positively miserable, apologized to  _ Nathan  _ for taking it in the first place. Nathan hadn't- even as he'd made his  _ own _ lunchbox the storage spot for the marbles Duke had won them the day before- put two-and-two together that that had been one of the few times the Chief had caved and got Nathan the one all the kids had, even if it was more expensive than one "that could do the job just as well". He'd been too busy trying to cajole Duke into teaching him that move, the one that got them a whole Superman lunchbox full of marbles to play with.

There were still some in there if the rattling inside the box was anything to go by. Nathan shook his head and placed the lunchbox back onto the nearest shelf.

As he did, something else caught his eye, and he shuffled forward to take a look.

At the back of the shed, on a bottom shelf in the corner, just concealed behind the long feathers of a giant dream-catcher tacked onto the bottom of the shelf above, was a wooden box. Curious, Nathan pulled it out. It was heavier than he expected, lid lined with a light layer of dust and sand that had accumulated in the grooves and swirls of the ornate carving that adorned it. It was solid, well-built, had somehow survived the damp that had rotted a fair bit of what was around it. Nathan didn't remember ever seeing it before, wondered if had always been there, tucked away in the corner, the only thing in the whole shed Duke had never shared with him, or if it was a newer addition, like the crates. It only had a latch, no lock, and Nathan ran his fingers over the pattern on the lid as he contemplated opening it. Whatever was inside, Duke had clearly never meant to share, and Nathan wasn't sure if it was his place to look even now.

Eventually, he thumbed the latch open anyway, lifted the lid with something close to reverence. It was nothing more or less than a keepsake box, with odds and ends tossed in seemingly at random, though knowing Duke, none of it was an accident. A few baseball cards, ones Nathan vaguely remembered them collecting together, another silver whistle- similar to the one Duke used to wear around his neck, three old pennies and a military medal that looked like a Legion of Merit to him, though Nathan wouldn't begin to have a clue where he'd got it. There were also several papers and other documents he didn't read through. Underneath all that, there was a small stack of photos. Nathan settled properly on the ground, cross-legged as he pulled the photos out, shifting the box to the ground beside him.

It was a tiny stack really, somehow too small for a person like Duke, who had lived the kind of life Duke had. There was an old one, of a much younger Simon, holding a bundle in his arms, while a toddler stood over his shoulder, both of them looking down at a scrunched face with a shock of thick, dark hair across his forehead.

Another, of the same baby on his own, grinning crookedly at whoever was holding the camera. Nathan could've sworn he'd seen Duke do the exact same thing before.

Simon and Duke, when Duke, at a guess, would've been about five or six, standing on a dock holding up a large brown trout that stretched across their out-held hands. Duke's grin could've lit up a house, and Nathan was sure he'd never seen Simon look anywhere near that cheerful. He wondered who was on the other side of the camera.

Several photos of two young boys, similar in age with the same thick hair, that could only be Wade and Duke, standing with their arms around each other in front of a giant snowman, eating ice cream on a bench on the beach, in front of a tiny Christmas tree in their pajamas. Simon wasn't in any of these.

At the bottom of those was a simple, candid shot of a young woman, maybe a little younger than Nathan was now, with black hair loose around her shoulders and few curled strands that hung around olive skin and high cheekbones. Her large eyes, rimmed with long eyelashes, looked impatient, like she'd been caught off-guard, but her smile was easy and soft, enough to hide the slightly haggard look around her eyes and mouth. Nathan knew who she was instantly, even if he'd never met her. She was so different to what he'd always imagined.  He'd always seen her in his mind as harsher, harder, jaded. He knew it wasn't fair to judge a woman he'd never met, but the little bits he'd heard, the things that he  _ knew _ , that he'd put together over years of knowing Duke painted a very different picture to the one he was looking at now. Had Duke known her as she was then? As a smiling, happy woman? Was this picture a reminder of what he'd lost when she left and came back after Simon died? Or had she always been the same woman he'd grown up with, and the photo merely a wish for what could have been? Nathan wasn't sure he wanted to know that answer, wasn't even sure he wanted to know any more of the portrait of Duke's life that was being laid out by this little box of keepsakes. So many people had let Duke down throughout his life, and Nathan hoped with everything he had that he hadn't turned out to be one of them.

He thought idly, as he dropped the stack of photos back into the box, whether Duke had stopped collecting memories when he stopped putting them in this box, if he had simply forgotten about it, if he'd started another at some point. Then again, he'd been on the  _ Rouge _ , seen all the ornaments and knick knacks and artifacts that crowded the place. Maybe that had been his new box, a much bigger, sturdier one traded out for the one he'd started as a kid. Nathan once again wished he'd asked Duke to tell him the stories (because there was no doubt that there  _ were _ stories) attached to some of the things he'd seen all over the boat, things that seemed to shift and move and disappear and reappear. Wished he'd known what the logic was to it, if there was any logic in it at all. Duke as a person may not have been a complete mystery to him,  but so much of his life still was. There was still so much they never shared, so many conversations like the one at the PD, or when they'd been playing poker after their con on Stony that had remained unfinished, so many little pieces of their lives that had fallen into the cracks and gathered dust like the box he held in his hands.

Nathan paused when he got to last few photos in the box, the ones that had been at the very bottom, piled on and hidden by other things. These ones he neither had to guess at or think about where or when they might have been taken. He had actually been present for these. There were a series of them, maybe a dozen in total, taken by a polaroid camera owned by Saul Goodman _ ,  _ the very same kid he'd revealed Duke's little hiding place to when he'd been in 1983. It was a wonder Saul hadn't come here again once he knew where it was, but Nathan just figured the kid was happy he got his camera back and couldn't be bothered with any more trouble. What Saul probably didn't know about was the afternoon he and Duke had spent playing with it, taking photos, taking turns taking photos and generally fooling around with their newly acquired toy.

Nathan was sure they had taken a few more than what he was holding in his hands; Duke must have picked and chosen the ones he thought were the best to keep in the box. It would've only been a few days later that Saul would've taken it back. Funny, but they'd never actually got around to missing it.

Nathan chuckled as he flipped through the small stack. The majority of the photos were of each of them fooling around, pulling faces and generally being idiots, and amongst them, a surprise photo taken without warning by Duke as Nathan walked into the shed, and a surreptitious one of Duke, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he focused on drawing something in the sand with a stick, followed by one of him grinning wickedly behind messy hair.

There was also one of Nathan taken from above, sprawled on the floor, resting on his elbows, covered in sand and glaring up at the camera. He and Duke had inevitably disagreed on whose turn it actually was to take the next few pictures. They'd ended up wrestling on the floor, each trying to reach and take control of the camera and Duke had finally tripped Nathan, leaving him face-first on the ground, at which point Duke had leapt up and taken a photo of Nathan in all his sand-caked glory. His face didn't look particularly friendly, chin jutting out and jaw set, but what the photo didn't show was how after, Duke had held out a hand to pull him to his feet, giving Nathan the perfect opportunity to tug him onto the floor with him and ensure he was similarly covered in sand when they were done. They'd ended up lying side by side on the floor, laughing as they caught their breath, staring up at the old corrugated roof. Nathan remembered how he'd thought that afternoon had been the first time he'd seen Duke genuinely smile since Simon died, the veritable calm before storm that was the death of a young man they would know for the next twenty-seven years as the Colorado Kid, and the disappearance of Lucy Ripley not long after, kicking off events that would ultimately shape much of their lives from that point onward.

It was the last photo that finally undid him. Taken from an awkward angle, it was a simple shot  of two kids, heads squashed together to fit into the frame, grins wide and faces laughter-flushed  as they looked up at the camera. It was one of the best things Nathan had seen for so many  many weeks, a jolt of pure joy that disintegrated the dam around his emotions. The sob coiled in  his stomach, a rip tide that lashed up his throat before he could stop it, as unrelenting as the  ocean tossed by storm winds. A small, wounded, terrible sound burst from still smiling lips before he could stop it, a sob that was as much for what could have been as it was for what  _ had  _ been, because if there was one thing Nathan regretted now it was how long it had taken them to find their way back to this, to what this one little photo had promised long before life and death and destiny had fucked everything up, long before they had  _ let _ it.

Christ, but he missed him. Missed his smile, his laugh, his teasing; every spiny little barb aimed his way. His loyalty. His selflessness. His courage.  _ Him _ .

"Dammit Duke," he said, his fist curled in his lap even as his voice came out watery and weak  and completely devoid of anger.

_ A desperate plea, heartfelt, terrified. Resolute. One last request to end this, to stop it all, a final act of courage from one of the bravest people he'd ever known. A hero. _

_ A hand around Duke's mouth, arm pressed into his throat. An unknown magnitude of pressure, trapping, containing Duke's Trouble, and with it, his life. _

It never should have happened.

Nathan never should have had to hold the life of his best friend in his hands. Never should have had to say goodbye braced against a desk at the station, unable to feel Duke's body struggling minutely against his own, instinct briefly winning against will. Hadn't felt his face pressed against Duke's as he tried to fit a lifetime into four little sentences. He'd only been able to hear the quiet, uneven breaths mixed in with his own until he wasn't sure if the pained little noises that accompanied them were his or Duke's. He shouldn't have had to override his own instincts, the ones that screamed at him to  _ hold _ Duke, to tell him everything was okay, to just  _ stop  _ and breathe in whisky and salt and the sea and figure it all out. Just the three of them together, like always. He shouldn't have had to wait until Duke was  _ gone, s _ hould never have had to let him go, let him take a piece of Nathan's soul with him. Not like that.

"I'm so sorry. You deserved so much better than all of this."

Why the hell did he have to go? Why weren't they given more time?

He'd asked these questions so many times over the past few weeks, didn't have anymore answers now than he did then. And it  _ hurt _ . He wanted to be angry, angry at Duke and himself and every choice and path that had led them- led  _ him _ \- right here, wanted to be as angry as he'd been when he'd thrown a half-drunk glass of whisky against the wall the night of the wake, when he'd just about stopped himself from putting a hole in his bathroom door. Anger he could deal with. Hell, he'd been angry with Duke most of his life, what would a little more be now that he'd left him? Now that they'd  _ both _ left him?

But he wasn't angry anymore, just hollowed out, left with memories like these to fill the holes they'd left in him. So that's what he did. He remembered.

Not all of it was good. He thought if he ever tallied it, the bad would probably outweigh the good stuff easily. He and Duke were  _ supposed _ to be friends, he knew that now. How else would they have kept running across each other, so often at odds but somehow still on the same path that would bring them together again and again and again. Sixteen tacks in his back, in exchange for Duke getting a black eye and a sprained wrist beating up a bully. A misjudged prank on his part that left them silent and stony-faced for over a week until Simon died and all Nathan could do was put an arm around the shoulders of a sobbing Duke and tell him it would be okay. A thousand taunts and jabs and punches and barely veiled insults wound in and around jokes and laughter and loyalty and love.

No one had ever said it would be easy, anyway. Whatever he and Duke had in common, it was

overlaid by their differences, divergences that collided with hurricane force and, more often than not, left debris and devastation in their wake. Yet somehow it had never been enough to sever them entirely, even when there seemed to be little left in them but hurt and anger and resentment. Hard as it was sometimes (particularly on days he'd been able to convince himself he hated him), Nathan had never been able to bring himself to regret having Duke Crocker in his life.

He ran a finger over an impish smile, one that fit on a grown man's stubbled face as easily as it fit on the messy-haired kid in the photo.

_ "Better late than never, right?" _

The memory bounced through his head, suddenly, unexpectedly, and Nathan laughed. The first peal of it sounded more like the hushed sobs that had filled the shed not moments before, but quickly swung into something deeper, and more consuming. Nathan figured he could be forgiven if a touch of hysteria crept in at some point. Dark humor was always more Duke's forte anyway.

Instinctively, he drew in a deep breath again, a heaved sigh that drew out just a little more of the pain and heartache, leaving him bottomed out on just this side of okay.

_ "You know Nate, somehow I never thought it'd be this hard to teach you to  _ breathe _. I figured quiet and peaceful and control were right up your alley. Fits with the whole stoic thing you've normally got going on." _

_ Nathan opened one eye, glared as much as he could while simultaneously looking utterly unperturbed. _

_ "Maybe it's just the present company that's putting me off, Duke." _

_ "Hey, is that any way to talk to someone who's helping you out?" _

_ "You're the one who suggested meditation. I still don't get how breathing out is supposed to help." _

_ Duke sighed, long-suffering but good-natured, "How about we try again, but with less ants-in-my-pants this time?" _

_ Nathan just kicked him. _

One breath in, hold, breathe out. Let the pain go with it. Funny, he'd never told Duke how much that had helped, that he'd actually used the techniques he'd taught him that day many times since then. Breathe. Hold. Release. Then again, he would have had to put up with Duke being all smug about it, and they couldn't have that. When he opened his eyes again, he was calmer, the sharp edge of his grief dulled just enough that this time Nathan thought it might last, that it was an ache he could learn to live with, and not just survive from one day to the next.

One step at a time.

It was his knees protesting being in one position for too long that finally made him get up. He wiped his eyes, carefully replaced the photos in the box, then after a moment's indecision, tucked the letter in after them and shut the lid, flicking the latch closed as he did. Only one photo was kept out, tucked into his jacket pocket to replace the note, his own contribution to the little treasure chest of Duke's memories. Something told him there would be more added to it over the next while, that some of the bits and pieces he'd held on to over the years would find their way amongst what was already in there. It seemed fitting, another way he wouldn't forget the man who'd given him so much. Pleased with his acquisition, Nathan tucked the box under his arm, stretched stiff muscles and walked out of the shed, only sparing just a glimpse back as he tugged the stubborn door closed behind him. He briefly turned toward the path that would take him back to his car, stopped, hesitated, then looked up at the outcropping that hid their little shed. Instead of heading back right away, he wound his way up the uneven path to the top of the outcropping, drew himself to the edge of the large flat rock. He took a moment to look out over the sea, reminded himself to come back here one night when it was clear out so he could see the stars. He hadn't stopped to look at them for a while, mused on how many of the constellations he could still remember. He knew he was putting off going home, not wanting to disrupt the fragile peace he'd found there, but as he stood undecided, he had an idea.

By the time he was done, his cheeks were wind-swept and his knuckles chapped. His body shuddered every now and then with the cold and his fingers were stiff and almost numb around the handle of the knife, but Nathan couldn't bring himself to care. He needed to do this as much he he'd needed to go back to that shed. The sun had already dipped past its zenith, its warm noon rays having given way to afternoon cool. It was impractical being out here right now and he could probably do with some coffee, but the roll of the waves below him was soothing, the rhythm of his hands as he scraped and dug into the rock distracting enough to ease still-troubled thoughts and melancholy that sung in his veins like currents of electricity.

Nathan pressed his lips out just slightly as he surveyed his handiwork. It wasn't excellent, not compared to some of the things he's made before, but for being produced on a whim, it served its purpose well, and, Nathan thought, was all the more special for its imperfection and simplicity. He brushed a hand across the stone's now slightly rough surface, blew over it to get rid of any lingering dust. Then he reached over to dig in the box just once more, withdrawing a long strand of black leather. He drew the silver whistle- that matched the one that now hung against his chest- through the bottom of his shirt, rubbing slightly until it shone it the sun, then picked up his rock and moved further back, towards the road.

The inner part of the outcropping was scattered with little stacks and pyramids of rocks, one of which had formed a tiny little natural alcove at the base of a Balsam Fir. Nathan used the knife to dig out a shallow bowl in the alcove. He wrapped the string from the whistle around the rock before arranging both in the hole and packing the loosened sand around it so the whistle lay at the base of the rock. Then he shuffled backwards to inspect the final product.

It was probably hard to find if you weren't aware of it, would most likely go unnoticed by people just walking by, but it wasn't entirely hidden either, something that might be found by anyone who cared to look closely enough.

"I love you, buddy," he whispered, fingers stretched over the crudely carved  _ Duke  _ on the stone's surface. It wasn't much, but it was something. Even if the rest of the world never knew what Duke had done for Haven, there were still people here who did, who knew Duke died a hero, no matter what the outcome of everything else had been.

When he turned back around towards the sea, a flare of late-afternoon sun caught his eyes. Nathan blinked roughly, was convinced for just a moment that he had seen a shaded flash of a long-haired figure standing strong at the edge of the outcropping, looking out over the ocean. He wasn't surprised to see nothing there once the after burn had faded, but the image of a single person standing there had morphed into two boys, sitting side by side in the same spot.

_ "One day, I'm gonna sail the world." _

_ "Oh." said Nathan, his easy smile dropping with his head. _

_ "You can come too, dummy." _

_ Nathan's smile picked up again as he looked back at his best friend whose lips were quirked and eyebrows raised just a fraction. They sat there in silence for a while, as Duke skated a hand over the rock beneath them. _

_ "Hey Nate? We won't stop being friends right, no matter what happens?" _

_ Nathan laughed, and punched Duke on the shoulder. _

"We'll always be friends, Duke."

It was only about a half-hour later that Nathan stepped back onto the gravel next to the Bronco, thoroughly cold and deeply exhausted, but in better spirits than he'd been for a while. He slid onto the bench seat and quickly turned on the engine, letting it idle a moment before he flipped on the heat. He dropped the box on the seat next to him, eyes lingering for just a moment on the ever-present pirate sticker, before he rubbed his hands together, letting them warm a little in the blast of heated air from the vents. Once he'd regained some of the feeling in his hands and had reminded himself to bring gloves next time, he pulled the car off the shoulder and turned back towards home.

The box was eventually tucked away in the living room, but the photo ended up on his bedside table, propped between a framed picture of him and Audrey and one of the three of them next to it.  He carefully rearranged them so they were in clear view of where he lay and as he settled down for the night he reached back to bring Audrey's pillow closer. He fell asleep with smiling faces staring back at him and Audrey's scent on every breath. It wasn't enough- might never be- but he felt a little less broken than he had been that morning, and that at least was something.

And for the first time in eighteen days, he slept through the night.

~

_ It's been a long day without you, my friend _

_ And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again _

  
  



End file.
